


Hunters Of The Realm

by Lenox (StAtS6)



Series: Hunters [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAtS6/pseuds/Lenox
Summary: This is a work of fiction.  It was fun to write because it reminds me of when I was a kid, playing out What If's and building forts with family and friends.  Almost every character is portrayed by someone I know.  Even the Villains, because let's face it, even when a Villain dies, they come back.In memory of Scott S Buj...November 26, 1969 to November 13, 2017.  Aka "Raven".





	Hunters Of The Realm

=======1=======

There was Light and there was Dark. There was Good and there was Evil. Since the beginning of time, Light and Dark warred with one another in an endless bloody struggle for total and absolute dominance. It was a futile struggle that continued into the present. It was a struggle that would continue on until the end of time.

There were many realms on Jupiter but only two of those realms were the mightiest with equal power. The Realm of Light and the Realm of Dark. There was a balance of power equal to both, but something had been discovered, which could change everything and alter the foundation of Jupiter forever. It could destroy the balance of power and bring one of the mighty realms to total domination. If the Light prevailed, there would finally be peace for all. If the Dark conquered, enslavement, torment and despair on Jupiter would follow. All would be cast into everlasting darkness.

If Richard Lyons had his way, darkness would not only rule over all of the night, but it would rule over the day as well. His heart was evil and he took great joy in bringing his enemies pain and suffering. He hated the servants of Light. Nothing would stand in his way as he fought to bring those in the Light under the heavy chains of bondage.

Richard was a common name, but Lyons was a name of royalty. He was a knight of the Dark Realm, but not just any knight. He was the First Knight of the Order of Thirteen. The Thirteen were powerful Dark Knights and their reign of terror was known throughout the world. They were feared by all, peasant and noble alike.

Lyons was in the City of Troye, dressed as a lowly commoner. He was without his armor and his trusted sword, but he was still one of the most dangerous men in the city. It was a huge risk for him to be in Troye even though he was disguised because there was always a chance that someone might recognize him for who he was.

Since his arrival to Troye, he had thus far managed to go about his business without being recognized. His business took him to a rundown tavern called the Hole. It was located on the east side of the city very close to the wharf. The docks and warehouses were across the broken cobblestone road. The Hole was a frequent pit stop for all types of crew, but mostly of the nefarious seamen. Namely pirates and cutthroats. Mercenaries and hired thugs. If any other type of man or woman ever dared cross the threshold of the Hole, a horrible fate would follow. Even members of the Royal Guard steered clear of the Hole. It wasn't that they were afraid. They had a code of their own and _that_ code was simply. "Mind your own damned business!" However, if the Royal Guard had a reason to believe a threat to the realm was being plotted at the Hole, they would swiftly swarm in and deal it a heavy blow.

Lyons couldn't help but smile as he entered the Hole. If the Royal Guard knew of his presence, the Hole itself would shortly become a pile of rubble and all within would become dust and ashes. Still smiling about such wonderful thoughts, he made his way to the bar, ordered a drink and settled himself there to wait.

As he expected, the wait was not long.

A man entered into the tavern. Lyons did not see him clearly because the man was hidden from sight due to the growing crowd of patrons. He could, however, see the top of his head and he recognized the ruffled dirty blonde hair. It was Geof Byshop, a sellsword with a bitter past. Lyons thought the younger man was too serious, but even though he found that to be amusing, he knew enough to never judge a book by its cover. The young man was short tempered, this was true, but he was also extremely deadly.

Byshop was an agent of the Dark, a proven warrior on the battlefield. His work for the Dark Realm was without fail. Lyons used the man because he was good at what he did. However, some usefulness did eventually come to an end.

Lyons waited and watched the scene unfold before him.

Byshop took several steps into the establishment before he came to the realization that the way to the bar was blocked. He looked and beheld three tall and muscular men standing directly in his way. The leering looks and grins on each of their ugly faces assured him they meant to do him bodily harm.

"Well, well, well..." one of them remarked with a sneer. "What do we have here?" He leaned toward Byshop menacingly. "I'd say someone took a bloody wrong turn. Don't ye know ya shouldn't go to places ya don't belong? A boy like you will soon find a blade in his gut in a place like this." He laughed.

His two idiot companions laughed with him.

Byshop looked a whole lot younger than he actually was. This sometimes led to a wrong conclusion that he was a young teenage punk taking chances in establishments youngsters were not permitted to enter. He paused to consider his options. So he never had to shave. His skin was always smooth. It didn't mean he couldn't shave others with his dual short swords he carried at his sides. If that was the only option of choice, he had no problem with that. He could end the lives of these fools in this tavern, and no one would bat an eye.

The men continued to laugh. Byshop did not. He also didn't say a word. He simply stood there and looked from one fool to the next. When he looked at them, he made eye contact with each one. The men suddenly began to hesitate as they glanced nervously at one another. One by one, their laughter ceased. They saw the hard look in Byshop's eyes and each of them came to the same conclusion.

This boy was no boy. He was also no ordinary man. They saw the disdain for them in his eyes and suddenly realized he was not to be trifled with. One of the men swallowed, turned and headed for the exit as if he remembered he had to be somewhere else. He was soon followed by a second. The last man seemed to be frozen in place, his eyes locked with Byshop's.

There was a terrible rage in there. Byshop seemed to have no fear. Only rage and hatered, which he used to help him destroy his enemies. And his enemies were many...including fool headed drunks who stood in his way. There were two short swords, one at each hip. He crossed his arms and gripped the handles of his swords. He continued to glare into the thug's eyes.

The man suddenly paled as his eyes rolled back into his head and he crashed to the floor, unconscious. The fool had passed out.

Byshop released his grip on his swords and resumed his pace to the bar. He had a fleeting thought that life had to be better than this. He immediately dismissed the thought, realizing it didnt matter and such thoughts were futile. Life truly had no real meaning or purpose. His path lay before him and he would follow it to its bitter end. He found a seat next to Lyons and took it without a word.

Lyons snapped his fingers at the barkeep. "Two of your worst, piss warm ales, on the double!"

The scruffy looking barkeep nodded once and grunted. He filled two large, filthy mugs and slammed them down in front of Lyons and Byshop. He glared at them before he moved on to other patrons.

Byshop didn't touch the mug.

Lyons, however, took a hold of his own and took several swallows. Then, he slammed it down, belched loudly and laughed. "Piss warm, indeed! Drink up, friend. Let it refresh you."

Byshop finally spoke. "I don't particularly care for drinking piss."

Lyons laughed. "Not much of a drinker at all, are you, my friend?"

Byshop narrowed his eyes. He knew by the way the Dark Knight had said the word _friend_ was a strong indicator that they were not. The sarcasm was not lost on him. "I'm here to discuss...our business arrangements."

"Oh, yes. _That._ " Lyons let out a sigh and regarded Byshop. "Tell me... _friend._ Your faith in the Dark...does it hold true?"

Byshop hesitated. And then he wondered about his hesitation. "It does," he finally said.

Lyons smiled knowingly. "Of course, it does." He had noticed the hesitation. Marking it in his mind for another time, he decided to get to the subject of the matter. "You know I have a great deal of confidence in you. I like the way you work. You've never let us down. And just by the simple act of your arrival tonight, I know you have succeeded in your latest quest for me. If you had failed...you wouldn't be here now." He regarded the younger man. "Is this an accurate assessment?"

Byshop nodded once. "It is."

"And so...you have what I sent you for?"

"I do. I have the girl and..." He stopped. He made a face as if he was disgusted with something. "...and the girl's burden."

Lyons let out a chuckle. "Burden..." he repeated, amused. "How appropriate. Where is this burden?"

"Some of my men are camped out away from the city. They have the girl and the burden is also with them...tied in a sack."

"Very good. Very good indeed." He paused to finish his ale. He placed the empty mug before him and reached over for Byshop's untouched ale. "The sack must be smuggled into the Dark Realm across the sea, Unharmed."

Byshop nodded. "It will be done. What of the girl?"

Lyons seemed to ponder about the girl for a moment. Finally, he shook his head. "Oh, so innocent. Oh, so sweet. Young. Pretty. A virgin, no doubt, because a girl like her cannot become a blessed Cleric of the One if she were not. This one...is pure." He turned his head and glared at Byshop. "I want her innocence taken from her and then you can kill her slowly. Make sure she understands everything she is going through before her death is her reward for being...good." Abruptly, he laughed as if it were a joke.

They were agents of the Dark. Byshop knew it was no joke. Slowly, he nodded. "It will be done. I will...arrange it."

"What? And not partake of her purity yourself?"

Byshop made no response. He did what he had to do for the Dark Realm, but found no joy in it.

Lyons let out another chuckle. He shook his head. "You should enjoy yourself a little, _friend._ It would help you loosen up. You're too tense. After all, I need you to be at your best for your next task."

He made no response about the girl as he responded. "I'm up for any task that needs doing."

"Good, because you may be required to shed some blood during this quest. In fact, I can guarantee you will." He paused. "Our Master requires an amulet from the Catacombs of Narok." He produced a map and pushed it over to Byshop. "This will show you the path you need to travel to get there."

Byshop picked up the map, but he didn't open it. Instead, he placed it directly into one of the empty mugs. Without a word, he lit the map on fire.

As it burned, Lyons glared at him. "Refusing this quest would be unwise."

Byshop shook his head. "I'm not refusing."

"Then, why did you burn the map? How will you know the way?"

"Only if the Catacombs had magically relocated itself elsewhere will I not be able to find it. Since I doubt that is the case, I can get there." He paused. "I've been there before."

Lyons regarded him. "Really?"

Byshop nodded once but offered no further information.

The Dark Knight respected the younger man's privacy...to a point. "Very well. The Amulet of Narok's Rage is somewhere withing the Catacombs. You must find it...before the Hunters do."

The Hunters. The thorn in the flesh of the Dark. They fought to thwart Lyons and his agents at every opportunity and apparently, they were hunting to reach the amulet first.

"Do they know where the amulet is?" Byshop asked.

Lyons shrugged. "Unlike you, I'm certain they have a map. It doesn't matter. Get the amulet before they do. Do it any way you see fit. Kill them outright. Follow them to the Catacombs and let them guide you in past the traps I'm certain are there. Do whatever you need to do. Just bring me the amulet."

"Consider it done."

"Excellent." Lyons grinned. "Sharpen those Singing Swords of yours, friend. You will need them." He laughed.

Byshop realized their secret meeting was over. He got up from the bar and left without a word.

Lyons grinned, watching the man head for the exit. He had every confidence Byshop would succeed in the quest he was sent on. The truth of the matter was...the young man was going to acclomplish more than he bargained for.

Lyons ordered another piss warm ale as he laughed.

======= ======= =======

Byshop stepped out of the Hole, stopped on the cobblestone street and looked out toward the sea beyond the Wharf. Something wasn't right. His instincts warned him that Lyons was up to something...that perhaps he had a different agenda altogether. The sellsword knew in his heart that he hadn't been told everything.

Abruptly, he dismissed his doubts and suspicions. It didn't matter. None of it did. He would do what needed to be done. If there was a different plan he was not aware of, he would let it come to pass. If it led to his final demise, so be it. He had lived a life full of darkness and perhaps it should be his time. It was, after all, what he believed he deserved.

He turned his head.

One of his men came out of the shadows. Booke was his name and the only use he was to Byshop was as a simple messenger. It was all the man had proven himself to be good for. He had no other redeeming qualities.

"Orders, sir?" Booke inquired, a little too eager and willing.

Byshop glared at him. "Get back to camp," he snapped. "The girl is to be made an example of and killed. Anyone who follows the Light will suffer the same unless they join us. Tell Remus. He will know what is expected."

Booke nodded. "Of course."

"I'll be there in the morning and I expect it to be finished before my arrival. Do not touch what is in the sack. I'll have further orders on my return. Now go."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Byshop watched Booke head off into a dark alley. His eyes narrowed. He did not trust that man. Then again, he did not trust anyone.

======= ======= =======

Booke had told him everything he had heard in the Hole and what his orders were from Byshop. Edward Carr, Steward over Carr House and all of its holdings, properties and servants, listened to everything. As he listened to his spy's report, he catalogued everything in his mind. He shifted things around and arranged for new plans or he simply thought of some minor adjustments to plans already being carried out.

All Stewards had a place in the Council Chambers of the Realm of Light and in that regard he was no different. However, he was also first and foremost a servant of the Dark. He was a spy and to those who suspected him for what he truly was, he was simply known as Carr, the Weasel.

Carr actually enjoyed being called the weasel. He found it to be an appropriate for what he truly represented. On the face of things, however, and for the benefit of his associates, he was, of course, a loyal subject to the Realm of Light.

A smile touched his lips. He paid Booke handsomely for the information he was given and sent him on his way. If there were anything more to learn, Booke would discover it. If not Booke, Carr had plenty of other spies planted in all of the right places just to keep the flow of information coming. After all, knowledge was power, and he intended to use that power for the Dark. If it helped to advance his own status forward, who was he to complain? Life had been very good to him.

As he walked down the long adorned hall of the Council of Light, he stopped when he noticed something in the doorway of the west entranceway. Two men seemed to be in a hushed but urgent conversation. He immediately recognized each of the men and found this discovery to be very interesting. He watched them as one of them - an older man in the apparel which marked him as the Grand Advisor - glanced in his direction. The conversation ended abruptly and the younger man - the Captain of the Royal Guard of Troye - strolled purposefully away, exiting the building.

The Grand Advisor warily approached Carr, keeping his expression neutral. "Steward Carr," he greeted with a slight bow of his head.

Carr smiled, returning the polite gesture. "Grand Advisor Fuller." Then, he changed tactics. "Dharren...you seem to spend a great deal of time with the Captain of the Royal Guard. What is his name?" As if it just came to him, he responded to his own inquiry. "Ah. Yes. Albert Barrington...isn't it?"

Fuller paused to consider his own response. He didn't want the Weasel to be snooping into his own personal affairs. Finally, he said, "An old friend of the family."

"Interesting. He seems quite young to be old."

"I meant..." Fuller paused again. "I was referring to myself as being...an old friend."

"Of course, you were."

An uncomfortable silence passed between them, or at least it was uncomfortable for Fuller. Carr seemed to enjoy it because he plotted out his best schemes in the silence.

Fuller did not like the silence. He cleared his throat. "Er… I was informed that one of your best servants has gone missing. Is the search going well?"

Carr put on a sad face. "No, I'm afraid. It is not. I fear Giles has not been faithful to me as I had once believed he was. It seems some valuable items of mine have also come up missing. I suspect I will never see them or my...servant again." He smiled. "Thank you for your concern."

"Of course. I do hope that bit of business...ends well."

"As do I."

Fuller nodded once. "Forgive me, Steward, but I must be going."

"Realm business?"

"No. The hour is late and I would like to retire for the night. Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow morning at the early rising of the sun."

"Perhaps."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Dharren."

Carr watched the older man walk toward the main entranceway. A smile touched his lips because he knew where Fuller was really going. He was going to see the Hunters.

He himself would have followed, but he had spies to do his dirty work for him. He did, however, have his own agenda for the evening.

He sighed.

Oh, the things that were done all in the name of duty. How he enjoyed being a servant of the dark.

======= ======= ======= ======= ======= ======= =======

======= 2 =======

Several miles from the city of Troye was the old shell of a temple. Long ago, it was a majestically tall building with a tower that rose high above the trees. Now it was in ruins. The tower still stood, but the rear half of the temple had long since caved in. It had once sttod for Dagon and was called the House of the Star. The temple was destroyed long ago by the Royal Guard because Dagon was a god of the Dark.

As Fuller slowed his horse to a trot, he looked out at the forbidden place. Many times, he could remember coming toward the ruins but he had always maintained a respectful distance from it. He may have lost much of his memory, but he could still recall how hauntingly deadly the House of the Star had appeared to be. He had never strayed onto the property either. Unfortunately, he had to go where he didn't want to. He had to make his way into the accursed temple. He could only pray that the building would not collapse on him.

Regan whimpered and came to a stop.

Fuller patted the horse's head and ruffled his fingers through its thick mane reassuringly. "There, there, Regan, my friend. I will not permit you to go any further." He climbed down and patted Regan again. "Go. Graze the sweet grass. I shall return to you as promptly as I can."

Regan snorted a response as if he didn't believe a word of it. Then, he moved away to find good grass at a relatively safe distance away from the temple. The grass on the temple's property was most certainly tainted by corruption.

Fuller gripped the handle of his sword as if he expected to use it at any second and took a deep breath. Then, he began to follow a path that had become overgrown with weeds and vines. He took careful steps. From time to time, he had to watch where he was stepping, a task almost impossible to do in the dark. On one such occasion, he looked down...and then he looked back toward his destination. He stopped suddenly in his tracks, gasped in fright and hastily withdrew his sword.

A mountain of a man in shiny, red tinted armor and a bastard sword stood directly in his path. Fuller had a moment of clarity as he wondered how something so big could move so silently. First, there was no one there. Then, suddenly, there was.

The man stood there, as casual as could be, leaning on his massive bastard sword. The man couldn't see Fuller's face because the moonlight came from behind the Grand Advisor. He did, however, notice the moonlight reflecting off from the older man's drawn sword.

"You might want to put that away," he told the intruder. "You'll only hurt yourself. Besides...mine is a hell of a lot bigger."

Fuller sighed with relief. "Fury!" he exclaimed, sheathing his sword. "You scared the dickens out of me!"

Marc "Fury" Shiva regarded him for a moment thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what the hell a dickens is," he finally said, "...but you're a long way from the capital."

Fuller snorted. "Troye isn't all that far away."

"Perhaps...but you've never before dared to enter the temple. Nor been this close."

Fuller straightened and took a step forward. "I have an urgent matter to discuss with Lenox...and it seems the skills of the Hunters will be required on this night."

Shiva paused. "Will there be blood?"

"Of that, I am certain."

The big warrior nodded, a grim smile on his face. "Good, because frankly, I was getting bored. Follow me."

He led Fuller into the bowels of the temple ruins. He made Fuller come to understand that he had to watch every single step he took very carefully. One false step could mean certain death...or worst.

"We booby trapped the whole bloody place," Shiva explained, guiding the older man along. "Wilks also placed magic traps and I don't even know where all of them are. Some of them work. Some of them don't. And some of them do things that I'd rather not know about." He stopped and looked Fuller in the eyes. "Best to avoid them altogether."

"I'll say," Fuller agreed.

The big warrior continued to lead the way. Fuller understood immediately why the Hunters had chosen the temple ruins as their secret hideout. If the way in was not known, it truly would be a grave risk to attempt to find any other way in. He had no doubt that some of the traps were life threatening. He was suddenly very grateful Shiva had found hum before he proceeded along any further.

Shiva took him to the underground chambers. The walk through the chambers went smoother. They had made it into the lair of the Hunters with their lives and limbs fully intact.

Through a large, arched opening was a room with a firepit in the center. In the pit, a roaring fire made strange shadows on the walls. A man sat at a reasonably safe distance from the fire, studiously flipping through the pages of a leather bound journal.

On either side of the large arched opening, there were a couple of statues. There was a naked mermaid on the left side of the arch, and there was a naked mermaid on the right. The details of the masonry work was exquisite. A crack, however, ran through the mermaid on the left, and over time, the left breast had crumbled and completely fallen off.

An old man was leaning next to this particular statue, his free hand making circles with his forefinger around the nipple of the right intact breast.

"Where have you been hiding, my dear?" the old man inquired, gazing into the statue's eyes with longing. "I don't believe we've met."

Shiva sighed impatiently and glanced at Fuller. "Lars, you crazy fool!" he exclaimed. "It's a damned statue! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Lars Wilks ignored him as he continued his one sided conversation with a hallucination.

"Crazy wizard!" Shiva went around him and entered into the next room. "Knox, I'm serious. We've got to let the crazy one go."

Fuller followed the big man in. "Did he drink another one of his homemade potions?"

"What the hell doesn't he drink?" Shiva snapped irritably. "That's what I'd like to know. I think he'd drink a gallon of horse piss if you told him it would give him a buzz!"


End file.
